Trickster

I laced up my boots, pulling tightly on the laces. I checked my bag- lock picks, check. Gloves, check. Wig, hairband and jacket, check. Umbrella, check. Calling cards, check. I intertwined my fingers, pushing them out away from my body, then up, stretching out my shoulders and back. I cracked my neck, and the music cut off. I glanced at the mirror. I almost couldn't tell who I was. Medium-length choppy black hair, two plain brown eyes- much less identifiable than a cloudy grey one and a sparkling blue one, plain black clothing. I shrugged as I pulled on my bag.

Well, that's the point. To be unidentifiable.

Locking the door to my apartment, I knocked on the metal. Almost instantly, the door faded into the wall, becoming indistinguishable. Satisfied, I bounced down the stairs, and out into the alley.

Show time.

-*~*-

I wasn't always a thief. When I was about four years old, I was found on the doorstep of The Sisters of Josephine's Home for Orphans. I had buzzed black hair, bruises, and a cloudy grey eye. The Sisters took me in, clucking their tongues, and breaking their hearts over my pitiful state. They called a doctor, curious about my eye. She told them that I wasn't born like that, but I had little more than light perception in that eye. She also told them that grey was the natural color of that eye. I had two eye colors, called heterochromia iridum. She determined that the grey eye was naturally weaker, and some physical injury had caused the eye to go blind completely.

I wasn't very popular in the Home. Kids are cruel, and I was different. Many of them came at me from my blindside- I never had any idea of who had tripped me. And it wasn't just because I was blind. I was also smart. By the time I was ten, I had discovered mechanics. I spent hours slaving over books and blueprints. When I was fourteen, I discovered what I wanted.

I was fifteen when the fire happened. It was all chaos- the fire had spread throughout the entire building by the time the fire trucks arrived. Only a handful of kids survived- all of the Sisters perished. They were all elderly, and slow. They separated us, putting us in foster homes around the state. A month later, I disappeared with my blueprints and my equipment. There was a pub a few blocks away from the charred ruins of the old Home. That's where I went. The place was really an underground black market, filled with the criminals of our world. It's where I found one mad scientist, and put forward my plan. He decided against charging me when he saw my notebook filled to the brim with delicious ideas.

That night, I went under the knife- and came out with 20/20 vision. And more. Koda and I stuck together for a few years. He taught me everything I needed to know about mechanics, engineering. When I turned eighteen, he gave me a top of the line tool kit. That's the same month he got caught. The month I struck out on my own, similar to countless others my age, yet different all the same.

Not many others are considered villians.

-*~*-

I zoomed in on the flat I wanted. With a blink, I could see the entire layout in my mind. My client, and friend, was a stickler for Oscars. But he figured he needed to lay a little low, seeing as he was almost caught by the last Hollywood starlet. So he called me up, asking me if I could please fetch just one more, and plant his usual calling card. I agreed, with the condition I could plant my own, of course. He gave the go-ahead, and gave me the lowdown.

This is the Oscar for Best Animated Feature Film. Academy Awards #74, the first Oscar of it's kind, for Ogre in 2001. Big Deal. So, this is the home of Erin Garner, the producer of the big green blockbuster. He's in the Bahia's, on set for some new movie. Which means, he's not home to guard his precious trophies.

I cracked my neck, and smiled. Time to grab an Academy Award.

I moved closer to the wall, ducking out of the rain. On the second floor lived a clothes designer who was in Pairs for a Fashion show. She wasn't known for security, and a blueprint check had made her my entrance point, especially with the nice trellis leading to her balcony. Security on the outside of the building was minimal on the private side, where the balconies and patios were. Just two cameras, meant to watch the lawn, and be purposely blind to the balconies, respecting the privacy of their rich tenants. Easy as pie.

I looked over the layouts again in my mind. It would be better to get to the right floor on the outside, but safer to get into the apartment from the inside. I checked the energy gage in my eye-screen. Twelve minutes. Can I get to the top floor from here then back down in twelve minutes?

I climbed the trellis, and stepped down softly. I pulled out the picks from my bag, and opened the door in about five seconds. I cracked my neck, and headed through the room towards the door leading to the internal hall. Up until the fifth floor the apartments were two bedroom, about four per floor with full kitchen and two bathrooms plus dining room and living area. After the fifth floor, the apartments are larger until you get to the eighth floor, the penthouse- where Erin Garner lives. Connecting the apartments are one hallway and two elevators, one of which connects to the penthouse. There are stairs too, of course. And cameras coating every square inch of each hall, stair and elevator. I already checked- I would have to be the size of a mouse to crawl along the blind-spots.

I paused just inside the door, careful not to touch it- doors have pressure pads that keep a memory. If it's known a tenant isn't in town, the security room in the basement will be notified. I checked the time. 8:47 PM. I have to be back in this room and heading down the trellis by nine.

I sighed, and rolled my wrist, pulling up the activation screen for the my new program, tested often, and proved infallible. With a flick of my wrist, I'll be invisible as long as my body's energy can cope. Invisible isn't really the right word for it- I'll be unrecordable. Camera's won't catch me, pressure pads won't remember my touch. Basically, a high frequency is sent out that jams my existence from the coding of every electronic thing. Say you held up a camera to take my picture. To the human eye, I am perfectly visible. But look in the screen of your camera, and I'm not there.

That's how it works.

I stood, and rolled my neck. One hard flick later, and I was in the hall, quickly walking for the stairs fifty feet away. I kept to the side, and slipped into the stairwell with no hesitation. Straight up I went, feet quietly taking me in a zig-zag path up the stairs.

Third floor...fifth floor...sixth floor...seventh. I checked the energy gage- nine minutes. I opened the door, and found myself in a grand little entrance room. The elevator door was to my left, quiet and still. I looked through the layout. Garner's personal rooms were to the left, and towards the far corner. I went that way, taking care to monitor my steps. The tenants below were reportedly insomniacs, and definitely home.

It didn't take long for me to find the room. Having an internal schematic certainly is helpful, but you'd think the guy would have some sort of security around his pad. No pressure pads, no camera's, no motion sensors. Not that I would've been picked up, but still. He knew there was someone out for Oscars. Why not guard his?

I checked the case before opening it up. No trigger pads, magnetic switches. The Oscar itself was slicked with some sort of tracker, but that's easily washed off in plain old Agua. I felt disgusted as I plucked the gold man fro the shelf. This man has no respect for his things. Or for thieves bored with ordinary thievery. I dug out the fake Oscar. My friend decided that the best calling card he could leave the Oscar-missing fools was a new trophy made of tin- a tin Oscar. Brain-missing, but alright. I smiled as I set my own calling card at the tin man's base. A star shaped orange or red leaf with Trickster written in all caps. Cheap, but effective.

A quick wash and run later, I was back in Miss Fashionista's room, towel-wrapped Oscar in my bag. I locked the door, and checked the energy gage again. Two more minutes. Enough time to just walk across the lawn.

I adjusted my bag again, and headed down the hall past the kitchen and second bedroom to the living area.

I should've check if there was someone in the flat.

-*~*-

"Miz Hertz. What a surprise."

I stopped in my tracks, hand outstretched for the glass door handle. With wide eyes, I turned my head to look at the only man who knew that name. My teeth clenched at the sight of Randall Jackson on the couch, feet crossed on the coffee table Miss Fashionista had obvious love for, by the look of it's pristine condition and smug-less glass cover. Jackson smirked at me, arms crossed behind his head. He was dressed similarly to the last time we met, this time with a black shirt. I narrowed my eyes. It's like he mocks me by imitating my clothing enough to suggest we're together.

"There goes my two minute window," I muttered as I cracked my knuckles. Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Ah, yes, your blocker. I'm sorry I couldn't make your trip across the lawn easier for you, dear, but my boss has had troubles finding your house."

I snorted. "You can find me at a heist, but not my house? What a joke."

He smiled, and shrugged. "Hey, I'm just the errand boy, honey. They tell me where to go."

"Who's they?" I asked, internal computer running a check on young men named Randall Jackson. Maybe Randy has a criminal record? Nope. Clean. Darn, I was hoping to get him on something. Especially because he called me honey.

Jackson heaved himself up, leaving a scuff on the coffee table. I let myself wince for the poor Fashionista. "'They' are your new client, Miss Mercury Jones."

I yawned, "Sorry, I don't accept jobs from arrogant creeps."

Jackson simply smiled. "We'll contact you soon. By the way, how much longer did you have on that blocker?"

What happened to the 'they?' I checked the gage anyway. It was gone. "Why?"

He smiled. "Just wondering."

I stared. He smiled. And I heard a door open and close. Quietly... Almost imperceptibly. Jackson cocked his head. "That seems to be the guards. So sorry, but I might've tripped the pad on the front door. Get away, and we'll be in touch again soon, sweetheart. If not, well, I'll come bust you out."

I said nothing. Just ran as Jackson gave a lazy bow, and disappeared from sight. I left no time for the trellis, just jumped as the guards shouted behind me. Alarms went off as the camera's caught sight of me, and I landed on my feet in the soft grass. I took off, leaping up between two trees to get over the twelve foot wall, and out of there. I was down the street and out of sight faster than you could say 'monkey.'

Passerby gave no comment as a brunette joined the throng on the sidewalk. She pulled her white coat close to her body, keeping one manicured hand on the grey bag at her side, the other cruled around the unbrella on her shoulder. I glanced around through hooded eyes, walking as normally as I could in four-inch heels.

Jackson said we would meet again. I look forward to it, if only to hurt him to the point of permanent injury.